


Yuli: A Short Collection of One Shots and Smaller Things

by MatchaMatcta



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Angst, Deities, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Fluff, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, Non-Linear Narrative, Unreliable Narrator, sometimes, this is to my dnd party
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatchaMatcta/pseuds/MatchaMatcta
Summary: I've written short one shots of my NPCS to account for an overflow of lore in my homebrew campaign. This is just a fun thing I do because, I mean, I'm writing all of this might as well share it lol.
Relationships: None
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rook has fucked up, but that was centuries ago. Now, apathetic and uncaring towards the world around him, he finds that someone still has an issue with him. 
> 
> He doesn't know what to do with this.

Rook.1

He reached down and grabbed his crossbow, already making his way to the exit down the corridor. The meeting had gone on longer than expected, with the discovery of a new power rising in the south. No one had been happy, Rook most of all since the power was near Mo’Shan, his own home.

Rook knew his city. After all, he had painstakingly built those walls, brought in people, and cultivated crime rates by himself. Even though time went on slower there while he was up here, he was still concerned that his city would burst into flames without him.

He had made it a good quarter to the exit when a hand suddenly pulled on his shoulder, jarringly halting him.

“You.”

The deity bit back a retort and turned his head slightly to see a shorter boy, heavily armoured with dark brown bangs covering his eyes. 

Ah.

“I have grievances with you,” the boy continued, yanking his hand back, “you might not remember me but—“

“No,” Rook interrupted. Using his height to his advantage, he turned and towered over the smaller. To his credit, the boy did not flinch.

“I do remember you, Clyde.”

If he could see through the bangs, he would put good money that the boy’s eyes widened. 

Rook continued, “You’ve grown up quite a bit. How’s your father?”

Now that inspired violence from the kid, judging from the hand fisted in his shirt with the other gripping the handle of an ornamented sword. 

“You,” Clyde growled, “You don’t get to ask about him.”

The kid let go before shoving a pointed finger at Rook’s chest. 

“You hurt him so much and for what? So you can move on and fuck around? Did he bore you?”

Rook scoffed. “It wasn’t that.”

“Oh, what was it then?” Clyde took a step forward and Rook took a step back. 

“Was it worth it? To slowly crack at his heart while he was already healing from my mother’s death? To trap him in his mind and make him doubt his every move? Was it worth it, making him shield himself more than ever?”

“You’re forgetting he hurt me first.”

Clyde practically exploded. “That’s not an excuse!”

“But it’s the truth,” Rook stated. He was beginning to tire of this conversation. 

“I wanted to keep you two out of harm’s way and the way he rewards me is running away with you tied to his back.”

“You kept us in a walled city,” Clyde responds, a little weak in the voice, “you argued everyday.”

“Clyde.”

They both were silent for a moment. Rook took a long glance at Clyde and saw in his place a little boy with chubby cheeks and a bright smile. 

(It was a sunny day. Beilam had taken all of them to the roof of the tower and presented a nicely set up picnic. Rook looked up at his friend in confusion and had asked about the occasion.

Beilam had laughed and tightened his grip on his hand. 

“I don’t know, it was just a nice day.”

Rook didn’t try to deny it. Besides, Clyde looked like he was having fun with chasing butterflies. The 4 year old would stumble and tumble on the soft grass, but he was determined.

It wasn’t long when he had waddled up to the adults, dirt smeared across his face and clothes. His tiny hands were closed around each other and he tried to keep the smile off his face as he thrust his fists towards them.

“What do you have there kid?” Rook asked.

“An b’fly.”

Beilam had gently put his free hand on his son’s fist. “You should let it go little fox.”

Clyde had frowned then and shook his head wildly. Rook chuckled, but Beilam had matched his son’s expression.

“You need to let it go Clyde. It needs the room to grow.”

The kid looked close to crying but he obliged anyways. 

Rook doesn’t remember what the butterfly looked like, but what he does remember is Clyde throwing himself into his arms and sobbing in his chest.

“Wha-“

“I miss the b’fly.”

Beilam had patted his son’s back while he tried to cover up his amused expression at Rook’s cluelessness.

“It’s okay Clyde. I’m sure it misses you too.”

Then his friend cocked his head to the side for a moment. “In fact, if it misses you enough, I’m sure it will return to you.”

Clyde lifted his head off of Rook’s chest and they both cooed at the kid. 

“You sure papa?”

Beilam had then briefly glanced at Rook. He didn’t understand why but before he could really ponder it, Beilam was already tending to his son.

“I’m sure.”

Even then, Rook could tell his friend was lying.)

He sighed.

“It wouldn’t have worked out.”

“Because you refused to change.”

Rook considered this. “Maybe, but it’s far too late now.”

“But—“

“Bye Clyde,” and then Rook pivoted around and continued his course.

“Wait, I’m not done!” Clyde shouted down the hall, and yet he made no move to stop him. “Stop!”

The older didn’t respond. Today was tiresome and he didn’t want to deal with his old friend’s son.

He could hear the kid getting desperate, so maybe in a last ditch attempt, Clyde did something unexpected.

“Dad!”

The silence after the squeak of shoes almost tripping on marble was deafening. Rook didn’t know what expression Clyde was wearing and he didn’t feel a need to find out. 

His hands were getting fuzzy and as much as he tried, his hand was shaking the crossbow. For a second, he felt his breath stop before he gave a deep sigh.

Clyde must’ve taken his silence as an invitation to talk. Rook heard a shaky exhale before he started in a trembling voice.

“You two weren’t the only ones who were hurt.”

Rook stayed where he was, looking at the portal exit. He knew that.

“I heard you and father fight every night, Rook. I may have been a child, but even I knew that what you had done to him, done to us, was not healthy. 

He tried to tell you, but you were stubborn and reckless and let’s face it, there was a point of no return after a while. But…”

A shuddering breath and a small sob.

“We wanted to stay with you so badly but you...but you kept making things worse. I know father didn’t help at times either, but you could’ve been better.”

There was a sniffle and Rook felt himself curl a finger around the crossbow trigger. He continued to stare ahead.

Clyde wouldn’t stop.

“I looked up to you. You were this strong figure in my life who had taken father and I in when you didn’t need to and had shown kindness when no one else understood. 

Even when we ran away, I thought it was all still true. That you were the hero in this story and you had made a simple mistake and you were still...you were still my—“

Click.

Rook was facing Clyde and the look of shock and devastation going through the kid gave him a probable sick thrill. 

His hand crossbow’s safety off and loaded, it was carefully aimed at Clyde’s general head area.

He was not known to miss his targets.

“Let me make one thing very clear to you, Clyde Morith, Patron of the Yulian Fauna, son of Beilam Morith.”

Rook felt a tug in his arm but he did not dare try and falter.

“I don’t care and I never will ever again. You were collateral damage to something you will never understand.”

His eyes narrowed as he felt his head pound a little. He needed to get this done. He needed to show Clyde it was over.

“You are not my son and you never were. Beilam was helpless and I simply took pity on him.”

He lowered his crossbow before staring straight into one of Clyde’s eyes, which had been uncovered from his disheveled bangs. It was time to deal the final blow and be done with this mess.

“You’re as pathetic as your father. I should’ve never let him in.”

Rook only heard Clyde collapse onto his knees as he entered the portal back to Mo’Shan. His own words repeated in his head as he was welcomed back and walked back to his office.

It was only when it was days later that he realized that he was still repeating them.


	2. Chapter 2

Rook.2

“You….what?”

Beilam smiled and slightly lifted the bundle in his arms higher. Even with the seeping tiredness in his face, his friend was radiating a glow that would only come from a new parent.

“I have a son now,” Beilam repeated, “I thought I should introduce you to him since, you know, you’re my best friend.”

Good for him but being ambushed in a sunflower field out of nowhere isn’t where he was hoping to have this conversation.

Oh gods, Beilam had a son.

Rook was reeling from this but he still held out his arms in a robotic fashion. Beilam gently cooed and shushed at the blankets as he deposited it in Rook’s arms. 

The baby was….weird. Maybe it was because this was the first baby he’s ever seen up close. He didn’t understand the appeal. But with Beilam looking at both of them with fondness, he couldn’t give it back or anything.

“You can’t hold him like that,” his friend said disapprovingly, lightly smacking the back of Rook’s head without jostling the child. 

The older glared. “How the f—how am I supposed to hold him?”

Beilam tsked and quietly maneuvered Rook’s hands until he had properly secured the child. “I thought you’d be better with children.”

Rook raised one eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well….never mind, say hi to your godson Clyde.”

Clyde was small. And squishy, like the seals down at the Bay. He still didn’t get the appeal. 

Wait, what did Beilam just say?

“Godson?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

The god peered down at the baby in his arms and cocked his head to the side. He couldn’t be the godfather to this child. He had no care or worry for it, felt no emotion towards it.

Oh well. He’d tell Beilam he wouldn’t be fit and—

A tiny eye opened and he realized that it was the same colour as Beilam’s ice-bright eyes. A closer look and he swore he could see specks of a golden wildfire dance in them.

In a moment of clarity, Rook’s thoughts went blank and he realized a small fraction of what Clyde represented.

He felt the coldness that had swept through him lift and a light airiness replace it.

Rook didn’t quite love the child, n’or did he think he would ever love him as much as his own parents, but he considered the possibilities of Clyde being hurt in the future and found himself to be unrealistically afraid at the very thought.

Ah. He got it.

In his hands was a creation of impossibility and contradictions. Beilam was a deity forged from the cracks of frozen snow in the bitter wastelands. The mother, through his brief encounters with her, was a mortal who dived deep into warm tropic waters, looking for a sign of adventure in intoxicating coral reefs and long forgotten monuments.

Logically, they shouldn’t have worked out, even as childhood friends.

Rook also saw where his own hypocrisy lied in the child. He will always be quick to laugh at the mortals in his domain for holding onto petty little things, small trinkets connected to the short years of their pasts. 

But Clyde was no trinket and Rook would protect him, not as a possession but as someone who needed protection. The world would be cruel to a child and while Beilam was a warrior, this was not a matter of brute force or charming words.

As Clyde’s godfather, Rook knew he would be responsible for teaching him. He shocked himself with how enthusiastic he felt about the ordeal.

A small fond smile graced his lips as Clyde drifted back to sleep.

“Rook?” Beilam’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You okay?”

The god, almost giddy, looked up. 

“He has your eyes.”

Beilam blinked in surprise before chuckling. “How observant of you. I’d expect nothing less.”

Rook shrugged. “I’m the kid’s godfather, ‘course I’m gonna notice these things.”

“Really, I thought this was a generic thing friends told their friends with kids.”

“No, Beilam,” Rook said, glancing back down at the sleeping child, “I really mean it.”

A silence stretched between them and Rook thought maybe that went too close for comfort. However, Beilam laid a gentle touch to one of Rook’s hands and snapped him out of his thoughts.

Then he realized his friend was fixing him with a grateful look. The other man, his cheeks must’ve been hurting, kept smiling at him.

“Thanks Rook, for being here. You’re my best friend and I couldn’t think of anyone better to be the god father of Clyde. 

I love you.”

Rook bit back the words, salt seeping through the wounds in his mouth. He quietly handed Clyde back and Beilam accepted him without suspicion.

“Don’t get sentimental. If you need help, just ask.” 

“Of course, of course.”

Rook distanced himself a little more. “I’ve got work to do and you have a wife to get back to. Send Noran my congratulations, she probably deserves it more than you.”

“I won’t argue you with that,” Beilam said, his wings already stretching behind his back. “I’ll see you later.”

With a powerful gust of freezing wind, Beilam was gone. Rook was alone in the fields of sunflowers, the warm currents quickly pushing away the cold.

He walked away through a diverging path.

This would mark the beginning of the downfall of Rook as he gained his second title.


	3. Chapter 3

Tales.1

————————

The Ansern Line

————————

In the early days, when Idrys still looked upon us with hope in her eyes, many people considered that our world was a floating island.

Like any island, it eventually ends and cascades down into the abyss. However it would only take a few years after for this to be disproven. 

Wanderlune was not a single isolated island, floating among stars filled with nothing. It was a planet, with no end on the physical plane of existence.

This would be disproven again when we first stepped on Ansern.

We don’t know who the first unlucky soul to venture farther out was, but it took us a while to find out the population was slowly trickling down.

An exploration team of ten was sent out. Two returned. One lived long enough to tell the tale.

Against one of the strongest blizzards you’ll ever feel in your life, you eventually come across an old woman standing in the middle of the growing snow field.

No one knows where she has come from, n’or do we know her patterns or thoughts. There’s been many names for her, but mention any to her and she’ll smile a toothy grin.

She’ll tell you a lie.

She then gives you two choices. She’ll begin to describe her home, not far from where you are, with a promise of warmth and safety for a night. She tells you that she’s made more food than she can eat and that she’d be happy to share.

You can almost feel your temptations crawl out your throat. But wait, she hasn’t told you the second option.

Her frail hand will gesture to a direction. There’s a small fire going, a miracle in the wailing winds and biting cold. It barely flickers. She offers her fire and promises to leave you be. 

She is not lying here.

What option do you think most would choose?

When entering her home, she will sit you down at a modest wooden table and give you whatever she had cooked up that day. No one can describe the taste, only that the item of food is never the same. 

She watches through the corner as you eat, staring at every morsel you leave behind. When you are done, she offers her bed to sleep in. 

It does not matter what you say now. Whether you exit now or sleep in, you will always wake up in an unrecognized land. You will not find your way back, deterred by growing snow storms and thunderous drumming.

You are trapped in the circle.

If you are lucky enough to last, you might leave one day.

And as you exit the threshold between magic and science, out of the corner of your eye, you might see her.

But she will refuse to see you. You have seen her truth. 

You have seen enough.

———————

The Prince (1)

———————

There once was a prince. 

A prince of ice and snow, he lived in the great north. The lands would glimmer and shine all day, like diamonds in the darkest caves. At night, the ocean would mirror the sky. One would say that plunging into the cold waters would be like diving into the stars themselves.

The prince loved the stars. Every night, he would climb the highest peak in the city and stare out in awe, as the stars told him of faraway lands.

Stories of green pastures and molten gold rivers. Tales describing brave adventurers, dashing princesses, and friendships that transcended through time.

One day, when he was tall enough and strong enough to hold his own sword, the stars told him that they were leaving.

“Why?” he had cried, reaching out. The stars seemed to falter. 

“We will leave you one last gift,” they said instead. 

In a bright flash of hues of blues and green, the stars had gifted the prince a brother. A brother not by blood, but by bond. He would be as bright as the full moon and warm as the summer sun. His curiosity would know no bounds and he would get the prince into constant trouble. Finally, he would craft his own story, together with his brother.

As the stars told him this, the prince grew more and more excited. He asked, “When?”

“In five day’s time, a boy will show up near the border of the city. He will have hair as dark as the deep sea below us and eyes that shine with stardust. You will know when you see him.”

The prince opened his mouth to ask more questions but then the peak of sunlight caught his eye. 

“Ah,” he said, “if you may have the pity and the time to indulge this poor prince, can I ask one more question?”

“Go on.”

“Will he suffer?”

The stars went silent for a moment too long before answering.

“Yes.”

Then dawn broke out and the prince could never speak to the stars again. On that day he vowed to protect his brother from whatever he deemed dangerous. As the stars’ last gift to him, he would not let any harm be bestowed onto him.

He would become the star in his new brother’s life.

————————————

Vrasknas’ Abomination 

————————————

They say Vrasknas is a storm god, but they are wrong. 

Vrasknas is a deity of emotion, but everything they do is deliberate. In the deep sea, emotions are nothing of use in terms of survival.

But it would only make sense that Vrasknas would find a way to weaponize their emotions into creating the most silently powerful creature rumoured to live in the oceans.

The people of Haewth call it a horror unseen to mortal eyes. Vrasknas would call it their precious son.

They all speak of Silo.

A terrifying union between the being of the depths and the angel of death, Silo swims aimlessly, blinded by the sunlight and filled with a vengeance built in its existence.

Both a prison and a garden, Silo is trapped, not knowing which way is up or down. 

And that is a good thing.

As big as 5 naval war ships, a tail as powerful as cracking lightning, and a jaw that could swallow whole towns, Silo truly fits where he is. 

Pray for the day he catches a whiff of a poor soul and finally figures out which way is up.

No light enters the deep sea and anything born in the abyss dies in the dark alone.

And hopefully Silo will be the same.

—————————————————————

The First Corrupted Ascension (Creation of the Hyeiflowers)

—————————————————————

The story goes like this.

Rook loses his birth title. He does not feel anything too strong about this. He stopped caring a long time ago.

Along comes a woman. A long time advisor of his, she finds out and offers comfort. 

Rook, curious to see where this goes, accepts.

He becomes more cruel the more he realizes what is happening.

He finds a solution.

On a summer day, overlooking the sunflower fields, he gifts her an ascension by poisoning her. He drains all the colour and life from her, only leaving her eyes. 

The ground, like collecting rainwater, drowns in her stolen life as she realizes with horror she cannot run away.

The sunflowers turn a light blue and grow cold.

She weeps and weeps but all Rook does is shrug and say, “it’s not so bad.”

However, like clockwork, Rook soon becomes bored. She soon becomes bored too.

They both stop caring about the weird blue flowers growing on the hill. He gives them away.

They both forget.

There’s another story that goes like this.

Rook does not forget but she does.

He still gives the flowers away.

Beilam receives blue flowers one day on his doorstep and wonders why they feel familiar. He asks Esper to plant them in the field the next day.

He doesn’t ask questions and she doesn’t either. They’re too afraid of the answer


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm.

Rook.3

The elements crashed against the tower windows. For a few seconds, Rook thought of the possibility of them shattering against the torrential rainfall and bitter winds.

Late-summer storms were no surprise to the country but the severity of this one had him wondering if he had accidentally pissed off Vrasknas.

Not like that would be a hard feat, but he didn’t think the dye prank was worthy of this type of power.

He was standing, staring into the surface depths of the storm when he heard the distinctive clicks of hooves coming towards him.

His advisor was up later than usual. The tiefling stopped a couple metres away from him, per protocol. He tilted his head, telling her he was listening.

“My liege, Beilam Morith has requested your presence.” 

Rook quickly glanced down at his advisor with confusion before concealing it into indifference. 

“Has he stated his purposes?” he asked, only allowing a sliver of concern to pass in his voice.

His advisor shook her head. “No, but he looks rather….distraught.”

He took a pause and turned his head to stare past the servant. On the other side of the mahogany double doors, his friend was waiting.

Most likely, Beilam was just caught in the storm and the heavy rain saturated his feathers and weighed them down to the ground. His friend was always one for risky runs, even though Rook and his wife always told him off for it. 

In any other circumstance, he would tell his advisor to lead Beilam to a room with a fireplace and then maybe come visit him in the morning. He did this often enough where they both were used to it.

But the slow-melting pot of dread stirred endlessly and he felt constrained inside of it. 

Dread was an instinct that could be easily dismissed as worry, but pure worry didn’t feel like this. The feeling felt as if the pot contained a sticky volatile sludge instead of the occasional spider. 

It was fear of a new kind.

His eyes darted back and he knew his advisor saw through his impassive looks. Too bad he didn’t know her name.

“Show me to him.”

She bowed slightly and turned. Rook followed, his hand fidgeting with the cape and braid on his shoulder.

When she opened the doors, he felt the pot start to bubble and spill.

Glowing white eyes snapped up at the noise. He was met with a face filled with heartbreak and grief, not even hidden with the infamous passive mask which lay cracked on the polished dark oak floor. 

Beilam was soaked down to the bone, his wings drooped so low and close together that it looked like a cape piece instead. Frost was slowly crawling up the tertiary feathers and his antlers were covered with serrated ice shards. Shivers and sobs wracked his friend, neverending as tears fell, briefly sharpening into icicles before shattering in the air. 

Despite this, in his arms was a familiar bundle of blankets, steady against his friend’s chest. Clyde slept peacefully as the storms circled around them.

Rook felt himself slipping along with Beilam when the other gasped his name.

“Rook,” Beilam repeated again before holding in a sob. “Oh no, Rook.”

He took a step to his crying friend before stalling still as wail was ripped out of the other’s throat. Tentatively he held out his arms and that was all it took for Beilam to lightly crash into his arms. The left antler cut into his cheek and the other tangled with his own horn jewelry but he made no move to let go.

Clyde stirred against both of them, but with some careful shushes from Rook, he fell into a restful sleep again. His ears twitched as he heard his advisor quietly leave and shut the doors. There was a pang of annoyance that she didn’t do so earlier, but he didn’t need to deal with that now.

Finally, when Beilam’s cries descended into quiet hiccups, he regretfully disentangled himself to cup his face to get a better look at him. There was a quiet sniffle and he watched as Beilam slightly leaned into his right palm. Thorns started to grow in Rook’s throat.

“What happened?” he whispered, his left hand going to tuck the stray hairs. 

Beilam shook his head and the ice started to drip down into his matted hair. Clyde was hiked up higher and the baby let out a tiny disgruntled sound. The glow of Beilam’s eyes dimmed as he stared at his son. Rook kept wiping the stray tear tracks and when a cold hand wrapped over his, he gripped it firmly.

A shudder and then Beilam stepped back, a cold vacuum created in between them. It was now Rook’s turn to shiver and flinch as a thunderstrike shook the windows. 

“Beilam,” he paused, gritting his teeth against the chill. He tried again, “What happened?”

The other briefly closed his eyes and when he opened them again, dull grey-blue pupils looked back at him. He still shook, but he had taken on a calmer stance, contrasted by his tattered appearance. 

“Can you….can we put Clyde down somewhere first,” Beilam croaked out. Fatigue seeped out of him and it took Rook a moment to realize his friend must have flown far to get here.

“Yeah,” he said automatically, before clearing his throat. “Yeah, of course, follow me.”

As they walked down the long corridors of Rook’s castle, he couldn’t help casting looks at the man behind him. Through the dim light, he watched as Beilam hummed a broken and stilted folk song to Clyde.

It took a moment for him to pick up on the song, a relatively new one about the passing of a great water spirit and the gift to her protegee. It began upbeat and airy, using whistles to represent the freedom the water spirit was granted at first. Soon though, it grew into a low hum as the shackles began to grow tighter, ending in the water spirit plunging herself into the Abracian pool to hide away.

It was about descending into madness and Rook pondered why Beilam would choose that song.

At the near end of the corridor, Rook ushered them into the room and Beilam stopped humming. The former stood by the doorway as the other man carefully placed his tiny son on the warm fur blankets and timidly stroked the baby’s head. 

When he straightened up, Beilam once again shut his eyes and exhaled a small puff of frost. Underneath the thunder and rain, Rook barely picked up the words that came next.

“Noran died.”

Rook felt his stomach drop and his head start to swirl. He was only able to mutter out a weak, “What.”

“She’s, she’s dead,” his friend grabbed the ring on the necklace and clenched his fist around it. In a tone filled with disbelief, he reiterated, “She’s dead.”

There was a moment of silence as they both processed the words.

Rook’s mind was scattered. How did Noran die? What happened? Did it have anything to do with the storm? What were they doing in Saebeo in the first place, wasn’t⎯

“Rook, I,” a pause and then a broken voice. “I couldn’t do anything.”

“What happened?” he tried again, more desperate to know what was tearing Beilam apart.

“A storm.”

A beat passed.

“This storm?”

“No, it was something else. It wouldn’t stop and when it flooded our rivers and created tsunamis out of nothing, it crashed into town. It was….”

Beilam ran a hand through his tangled hair and let it stay there. “It was monstrous, not even Vrasknas could conjure it. It swept up both of them and I, I had to choose.”

“You didn’t⎯”

“I had to Rook! I had to choose which one died and I chose Noran, because I was too late again!”

The shout shocked both of them and a prolonged whine came from the sleeping child. 

The bout of loud grief slipped out of Beilam and he rushed to shush Clyde back to sleep, adding in hasty apologies. Meanwhile Rook stood, focusing in on the way his breath came in and out.

Beilam kissed the top of his son’s head and tiredly looked up at Rook. “I’m sorry for yelling. Is it okay if we stay here for a while? I just don’t know where else to go.”

He didn’t even bother thinking more about it as he responded, “As long as you need to. And you don’t need to apologize, Wander above, you don’t need to.”

“Okay,” Beilam nodded and sighed, “I’m in debt to you. We can talk more in the morning, for now I’d just like to rest.”

“Of course, dear Beilam.” Rook reached for the door handle and took a half step out the corridor. “Take all the time you need and know that I…”

The words caught in his throat and it stung the wounds already there. So he settled it down.

“I’m sorry,” and he meant it more than Beilam would ever know.

Before he shut the door, he heard a quiet thank you. He pulled his hand off the handle as if it burned him and held it close to his chest.

The storm outside thundered on in tandem to the disaster brewing inside.


End file.
